


Sex Sent Me to the ER: Hades Edition I

by MsThunderFrost



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Bruises, Established Relationship, Hand Injuries, Humor, Injured Theseus (Hades Video Game), Insecure Theseus (Hades Video Game), M/M, Office Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Humor, Size King Theseus (Hades Video Game), Thirsty Theseus (Hades Video Game), Tired Asterius (Hades Video Game), sex-related injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: It’d been fun in the moment, but their adventures in the office had left Theseus feeling sore for days—and with quite a few new bruises along his back and thighs. Asterius had been concerned enough to drag him to their GP, who’d poked and prodded and asked all sorts of embarrassing questions, before advising that Theseus steer clear of any ‘strenuous activity’ for the foreseeable future. Asterius had taken that to mean no toys, no sex, and no fun. He’d even bought him a special hemorrhoid donut to sit on to ease some of the discomfort that came with hours’ long Zoom meetings. Which, you know, had actually been kind of nice. But somehow also humiliating? He felt like a little old lady, hauling her special pillow around with her everywhere she went…Seriously, though. The lack of sex might actually kill him.
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	Sex Sent Me to the ER: Hades Edition I

Asterius is well-aware of the fact that his boyfriend is not necessarily the sharpest crayon in the pack. Ordinarily, he’s able to reel him in before he does anything outlandishly stupid, but…

Well, there’s only so much control that one can exercise over a full-grown man.

Asterius watches as the doctor wraps a soft, clean bandage around Theseus’ hand. The damage to his hand had been severe enough to require a skin graft, which the doctor had said should take about two weeks to fully heal. Theseus has been pumped full of so many narcotics, it’s hard to tell if he actually understands what’s happened to him. He’s just staring at Asterius with wide, unblinking eyes as he tells the doctor about how much he _loves_ him, while a little bit of drool collects at the corner of his mouth. Asterius half-wishes they’d knocked him out.

He’d been telling Theseus to order a new toaster for _weeks_. His boyfriend had continuously promised to do so, all the while making use of their _very broken_ toaster every morning before work. On that particular morning, the toaster had popped… but the toast hadn’t come out of the top. And Theseus, in his brilliance, had _stuck a fork_ into the slot, while the toaster was _still plugged into the wall_ , and gotten himself electrocuted. For a moment, Asterius’ heart had stopped beating, his entire world threatening to come crashing down around him. If Theseus had died…

Now? Now, he’s just pissed.

“Asterius…” Theseus is full-on whining now, apparently having noticed that Asterius is ignoring him in favor of attempting to listen to the doctor’s instructions for caring for his idiot’s injured hand. “I feel like you’re mad at me.”

Asterius blinks, “Why is that even… _Yes_ , Theseus, I _am_ mad at you. You almost _died_ , all because you were too lazy to open up the Amazon app on your phone and order a new toaster!” There’s literally no other logical explanation. Theseus was being lazy, and now thirty-five percent of the nerve endings in his hand are _dead_.

Theseus’ mouth snaps closed with an audible _pop_. He kicks his legs back and forth, feeling a little petulant, as the doctor secures the gauze in place with a strip of medical tape. Then, “…Are you still mad at me?”

Asterius sighs, “It’s literally been twenty seconds. Yes, I’m still mad at you.” Theseus’ shoulders slump a little.

“But I didn’t die!” Gods, but he’s high as a kite. Asterius rolls his eyes.

“No, you didn’t.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Look, will it make you feel better if I tell you that I’m not mad at you?” He knows that it’s a bit of a reach, considering that Theseus knows full-well that it’s a lie, but… if it’ll convince him to drop the matter, at least for a little while, then…

“No.” Theseus sniffles. Gods, now he’s crying. “Y-You be as mad as you want, see if I care!”

“Wonderful. Now that that’s settled…” He turns to the doctor, “So, what do I need to keep an eye out for, to make sure that the graft isn’t getting infected?”

Theseus is the world’s worst patient, even with something as simple as the common cold. This was going to be absolutely miserable. The only bright side was that Theseus would be working from home for the foreseeable future, which meant that Asterius could keep an eye on him and make sure that he was properly tending to his stitches. It also meant that Asterius would be helping him with most of his work, since the electrical burn that’d started this whole mess was on the palm of his dominant hand. Asterius isn’t even sure he can hold a pen, let alone—

The doctor tells him that, once the medication wears off, Theseus is likely to be in a great deal of pain. He can take additional opioids, but he cannot exceed three pills in the span of twenty-four hours. He can supplement the opioids with Tylenol, but Asterius already knows that that won’t even _touch_ the pain. Perhaps he should’ve thought of that before sticking a godsdamned _fork_ in their broken toaster. Asterius takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. Theseus was an idiot, yes, but he’d also almost _died_. He needs to calm down and think about this rationally—

“Asterius…” Theseus is whining again. Asterius takes another deep breath and turns to face his despondent boyfriend. “Can we stop for ice cream on the way home? I want a blizzard.”

He wants a… _Seriously_? “Tell me, Theseus. How do you plan on _eating_ said blizzard, when you can barely move your hand without crying?” He’d have to hold the cup between his thighs and try to master the little plastic spoon with his non-dominant hand. He’d make a mess of himself _and_ the car.

Theseus clearly has not thought that far ahead, because it takes him a second to come up with, “Um… you’d feed me?” He offers his best and brightest smile, a little bit of drool caked in the corner of his mouth.

Asterius frowns, “You… really don’t know what to do with the fact that I’m mad at you right now, do you?”

His lower lip warbles, “N-No. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.”

“Then, next time I tell you to order a new toaster, you’ll do it the first time I ask instead of waiting until you almost _die_.” He says, without missing a beat. Then, “Thank you for all of your help, doctor.”

Asterius doesn’t buy Theseus ice cream, which only seems to increase the older man’s distress. His suspicions regarding Theseus’ inability to use his right hand are confirmed when he tries to fill out his discharge papers, only to drop the pen on the floor no less than seven times. Eventually, exasperated, Asterius had snatched up the clipboard and filled out the blasted forms himself (which, judging by the not-so-little smile on Theseus’ face, was likely the plan all along—the fucker).

When they return home, sans ice cream, Theseus decides to crash on the couch and find the movie that he’d been half-watching in recovery on Hulu. Asterius leaves him to it, locking himself in their bedroom to take a much deserved nap. Theseus can certainly manage to take care of himself for a few hours. And if he somehow manages to fuck up badly enough to burn their house down, well… that would just be par for the course for this otherwise utterly _fantastic_ day. You know what? He probably just jinxed himself…

Twenty minutes later, a slip of paper slides underneath the door. It’s covered in chicken scratch that vaguely resembles Theseus’ handwriting… Maybe he’d tried writing it with his mouth?

At some point, he’d given up trying to write actual words and had resorted to drawing a crude rendition of himself sticking what appeared to be a pitchfork into the toaster with a great big, red ‘x’ through it.

It’s the closest thing to an apology he’s going to get.

Asterius lets out a long-suffering sigh and tucks the picture away into the bedside table.

* * *

“Theseus, no.” It’s almost comical, the way his boyfriend is pouting, his fingers flexing beneath the soft cotton padding of the oven mitts that Asterius had placed on his hands. He’d then secured the mitts with duct tape when he’d realized that Theseus had figured out how to remove the mitts with his teeth.

“Why’re you punishing me, Asterius?” Theseus asks miserably. He looks like a small child who’d just gotten caught scratching their chicken pocks—which, honestly, isn’t that far from the truth.

“You can’t scratch your stitches.” Asterius tuts. Honestly, he’s thankful that the graft had started to itch, because that was a sign of healing. But if Theseus scratched at it and opened something, he was opening the door to an opportunistic infection. “I’ll take the mitts off when you’ve proven that you can behave yourself.”

Theseus frowns, “Admit it, you’re still mad about the toaster. I ordered a new one, just like you wanted!”

Yes, because that _absolutely_ made up for the three weeks where Asterius’ requests for him to purchase a new toaster had just been outright ignored. “I’m not mad. A week ago, I was mad. Now, I’m just tired.”

“Of me?” There’s that whining again. Asterius sighs—leave it to Theseus to find the worst in everything that goes unsaid. “You don’t have to stay and take care of me if I’m such a—a _burden_ to you.” He sniffles.

Asterius rolls his eyes, “Where would I go? Last time I checked, I live here, too.”

“So, you admit that I _am_ a burden!” Theseus exclaims, before deflating. Asterius arches a brow.

“I never said anything of the sort. Don’t put words into my mouth.”

This isn’t what it’s usually like—dating Theseus, that is. This is one-hundred percent what it’s like acting as a caretaker for the world’s most insufferable patient.

While Theseus has his fair share of insecurities (which is understandable, considering the stories he’s told Asterius of his life before they’d met—and yet, no matter how hard he tried, he could never wholly convince Asterius that he was not a good man. He has his faults, just like any other, but he never fails to treat Asterius with love and respect, and that… well, that’s more than most of the people in Asterius’ life ever bothered to do), it was unusual for them to manifest so… _violently_. Well… when it was just the two of them, at least.

Theseus is well and truly incapacitated, now that his hands have been bundled up tight (the mitts had been a housewarming present from Theseus’ ex, Ariadne, that had some of the most colorful curse words that Asterius had ever seen hand embroidered on the back in glittering pink thread—Theseus loved them, but Asterius felt they were in bad taste, and only allowed Theseus to bring them out for occasions such as these. Was it wrong that he hoped some of the duct tape caught on the thread and ruined the design…? Probably. Did he care? No.), which means that Asterius is acting as his transcriptionist to ensure that his work is finished by the end of the day. It’s slow-going, since he’s somewhat clumsy with the keyboard—his fingers are too big, and keep hitting multiple keys at a time—but…

“What’re you doing?” He peers down between his legs, to where Theseus has slithered underneath the desk. He’s pawing clumsily at the front of Asterius’ jeans, realizing that he can’t actually work the zipper—or the button—without having proper use of his fingers.

Theseus pouts, “I’m _trying_ to pay you back for all the shit I’ve been putting you through, but I can’t… get the fucking zipper… to budge.” Despite his best efforts, all he manages to do is make himself more frustrated.

Asterius frowns, “And just what do you intend to do, once you have my pants open?”

Theseus licks his lips, his eyes twinkling, “Suck your gorgeous cock, of course.” When Asterius doesn’t respond, the pout returns—this time with 25% more intensity. “Come _on_. You’ve been withholding sex for a _week_ now. You can’t just walk around the house looking like a proper snack and expect me to not want to take a bite.”

“The… absolute _cheesiness_ of that line aside…” Asterius trails off, shaking his head. “How exactly do you expect to finish telling me what to write in these emails when you have a mouth full of cock.”

Theseus sighs, “Logistics are _so_ unsexy.”

“Yes, well…” Asterius cracks his knuckles, before focusing his attention back on the half-written email they’d been working on before Theseus had gotten frisky. “Logistics are important.”

Asterius has just finished writing out the last line of the second to last email that Theseus needs to answer that afternoon when Theseus starts to grow restless yet again. Asterius rolls his eyes. Theseus still has three Zoom meetings he needs to attend later that day, the shortest of which will likely last a little over an hour. Asterius will be around, of course, to ensure that the meetings run smoothly—Theseus can hardly be expected to mute and unmute himself when he doesn’t have proper use of his fingers, after all. And he cannot be pawing at Asterius’ cock every time he walks past. That’s just… _asking_ to have a very uncomfortable conversation with HR. There has to be a solution that will make _everyone_ happy.

One trip to the bedroom later, he’s attaching the suction cup base of Theseus’ favorite dildo to his office chair. The dildo is modeled after a minotaur’s horn, with a relatively thin tip that gradually grows thicker as it curves around to the flared base. It’s far bigger than anything he would even attempt taking, but Theseus _loves_ it—especially when he can choke on Asterius’ cock at the same time. But since he needs Theseus’ mouth free for the foreseeable future… He beckons Theseus over as he cracks the lid on their bottle of cherry-flavored lube.

Normally, when Theseus is being… _petulant_ … he’ll have his boyfriend prep himself. In his current state, however, that’s next to impossible—

And, to be fair, he wouldn’t want Theseus getting lube anywhere near his skin graft, anyway.

It’s easy enough to bend Theseus over his paperwork-riddled desk and yank his sweatpants down over the plump curve of his ass. He’s not wearing any underwear, so this act immediately bares Theseus’ deliciously tanned skin—his puckered hole winks at him obscenely, always a little loose from the oversized toys he so favors. Asterius trickles lube down the length of his crack, before scooping up a bit with his pointer finger and easing it inside of Theseus’ warm, velvety heat. Theseus shudders, scrabbling for purchase—and knocking over quite a bit in the process—

Asterius swats at Theseus’ ass. Not hard enough to _truly_ hurt—though there is definitely a bright red mark left in his wake. “I’ll be expecting you to clean all of this up once we’re done here.”

Theseus’ eyes widen, even as his hips rock back onto Asterius’ hand of their own accord, “What?! How?” He holds up his hands, as if Asterius could have forgotten that they were currently indisposed.

“You’re a smart man,” Asterius curls his fingers in Theseus’ blond hair, tugging his head back until his eyes are fixed on the one bulb in their ceiling light that Asterius had been asking him to repair for weeks (come to think of it, hadn’t it died around the same time that their toaster had gone on the fritz?). “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

He slides a second finger in almost immediately after the first, confident that Theseus can take it. His knuckles brush up against the smaller man’s prostate, and he keens… “Hgnnn…” He spreads his legs a bit wider, canting his hips up so that his body weight is resting on Asterius’ thick leg.

Asterius slides his free hand along the length of Theseus’ back, quieting and stabilizing him. “Would you like another finger?” He asks. At it’s base, the toy is a little wider than three of Asterius’ fingers, but…

Well, Theseus has always been a little bit of a masochist.

“N-No, I…” Theseus swallows hard, making a grabbing motion toward the chair. Or… he assumes it’s a grabbing motion, it’s rather hard to tell with the mitts. “Please, I… I can take it.”

“Good.”

Asterius, conscious of the fact that the inability to use his hands would have an adverse effect on his center of gravity, is careful to guide him over to the chair and help him to ease himself down onto the toy, inch by blessedly thick inch. He studies the subtle changes in Theseus’ facial features as he takes more and more of the toy inside of him—his eyes slowly darken with lust as his mouth falls open, his lips curling back into a smile as the toy caresses his most intimate places—places that Asterius could never hope to reach on his own.

When he’s fully seated, he sits there for a moment, his chest shuddering as he attempts to breathe around the unbelievable pleasure rising within him. His cock twitches, beads of pre leaking from his straining cock…

His powerful thighs flex as he slowly works himself up, excess lube trickling down the beautifully sculpted toy—

Asterius registers the chair’s creaking just a second too late.

The desk chair collapses under Theseus’ weight. Asterius steps in just in time to keep Theseus from bashing his head against the wall on the way down. “Gods, Theseus—are you alright?!”

Theseus is silent, his entire body trembling. The toy is lodged _deep_ , and for a moment, Asterius is worried that something is seriously wrong. Then, “F-Fuck!” Theseus’ cock twitches, painting the broken bits of the chair in his seed. Asterius promptly proceeds to drop him, “H-Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re ordering a new office chair.” He looks up toward the ceiling, at the half-dead light. “And a lightbulb.”

* * *

It’d been fun in the moment, but their adventures in the office had left Theseus feeling sore for _days_ —and with quite a few new bruises along his back and thighs. Asterius had been concerned enough to drag him to their GP, who’d poked and prodded and asked all sorts of embarrassing questions, before advising that Theseus steer clear of any ‘strenuous activity’ for the foreseeable future. Asterius had taken that to mean no toys, no sex, and _no fun_. He’d even bought him a special hemorrhoid donut to sit on to ease some of the discomfort that came with hours’ long Zoom meetings. Which, you know, had actually been kind of nice. But somehow also humiliating? He felt like a little old lady, hauling her special pillow around with her everywhere she went…

Seriously, though. The lack of sex might _actually_ kill him.

“To be fair,” he begins, “while the doctor did say that I shouldn’t be involving myself in anything strenuous, what she _meant_ was that I shouldn’t try bottoming anytime soon—”

Asterius raises a brow, “Oh, so you’re speaking for the doctor now?”

“You have to admit that she left quite a bit… open to interpretation.” She did not, in fact, leave anything open to interpretation. She had just about come right out and _said_ that sex was inadvisable. But still… he’s desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures. “It would probably be fine if I, say… sat on your face?”

“That’s a horrible idea.” Theseus cannot even be trusted to sit on a chair. If he sits on Asterius’ face, he’s likely to break Asterius’ nose—while also finding some new, intuitive way to injure himself further.

Theseus waggles his eyebrows, “That’s not a _no_.”

Asterius frowns, “In what world could that be interpreted as anything _other_ than no?”

Theseus sighs, “I could try topping.” It’s not that he’s actually opposed to the idea. He’s just… not as enthusiastic about it as he is about getting bounced on Asterius’ cock like a living cocksleeve. “I don’t need my hands to do that, provided you’re fine with handling the prep yourself.”

Asterius is silent for a moment, thinking. Then, “Fine. We will do this _once_. And then you will _keep it in your godsdamned pants_ until _all_ of your wounds have healed. Understood?”

“Mmm… just once is all I need, baby.”

Neither of them mention that Theseus had technically already had an incredibly satisfying orgasm, which is what had led to this disaster. Instead, Asterius takes him by the wrist and leads him into the bedroom, where he helps him to shed the few articles of clothing that he could tolerate brushing up against his multitude of bruises. He catches Asterius’ gaze lingering on his back for just a second too long, and reaches out to take hold of the younger man’s chin, turning his head so that their eyes locked.

“I’m fine, Asterius. I can tolerate a bit of rough handling.” Asterius wants to mention that there’s a difference between rough handling and _falling through a fucking chair_ , but he holds his tongue—in no small part because it was Theseus’ fault that the chair was in such disrepair in the first place.

Asterius snorts, “Are you? Come over here and _fuck me_ , then.” He falls back onto the bed, tugging Theseus in-between his legs. He’s so _demanding_ for someone who’d nearly given him a concussion the day before when he’d slipped under the desk in his office for another stab at a covert blowjob.

It had been about as successful as all of their other attempts. Asterius had bucked his hips at the worst possible time, Theseus had smacked the back of his head on the desk, and had gotten an eyeful of cum for his efforts.

The vision was _still_ a little wonky in his left eye, twenty-four hours later.

He grabs a handful of Asterius’ braids to pull him forward into an absolutely devastating kiss. Asterius does not resist, his dark eyes fluttering as his hands come up to cup Theseus’ cheeks. The heat radiating off of his massive palms is absolutely _delectable_ —it would feel even better curled around his cock, the rough-hewn skin gliding over the sensitive organ as he quickly and efficiently brought Theseus to his first orgasm of the night. But alas, he’ll have to make do with what he’s been offered.

Turning his head, he presses a small kiss to the inside of Asterius’ wrist, reveling in the sharp scent of sandalwood that clung to the other man’s skin. “Take your pants off.”

Asterius rolls his eyes, “Whatever you say, your highness.” He shimmies out of his pants and boxers, leaving Theseus to retrieve the lube from the bedside table. Theseus grabs the first bottle that he finds, cracks the lid, and messily pours a considerable amount of it onto his uninjured hand.

Asterius has just made himself comfortable upon the bed when Theseus returns, teasing lube-slick fingers over his crack. His dark skin glistens in the dim light of the room, the sweetly-scented liquid dripping from his skin, “Are you ready?” He asks, moving his injured hand to part Asterius’ cheeks just a little bit further…

The younger man’s brow furrows, “Um, Theseus? I think that you may’ve grabbed the warming lube—”

Theseus _howls_ when his wounded palm comes in contact with the lube. “Water!” He races into the bathroom, presumably to scrub the lube off of his hand. Asterius stumbles after him, yelling—

“Don’t scrub! Just run it under the tap!” Despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to scrub the wound clean with soap and water, that would just irritate the stitches. Speaking of, “And don’t get your stitches wet! You know what—” he grabs Theseus’ wrist seconds before he just plunges his entire hand under the water—“let me handle it.”

Needless to say, after that, Theseus needed very little incentive to keep his hands to himself until his wounds had healed.

Asterius, however… had to resort to more _drastic_ measures.

**Author's Note:**

> Theseus/Asterius won the first Twitter poll for a Hades Edition of my Sex Sent Me to the ER fics! There will be a Patrochilles fic coming soon <3
> 
> Head on over to my Twitter page now to vote on a possible third installment to the little series: [@MsThunderFrost](https://twitter.com/MsThunderFrost)


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